A Kaleidoscope Night
by awaylaughing
Summary: The nations go clubbing, glowing face paint is employed and the plot is very, very thin. CubaxCanada, pretty much straight up porn.


**Title: **Cold

**Pairing: **Realized but unrequited America - Canada

**Warnings: **Weirdness, mentions of sex, possibly disturbing imagery (but probably not)

**Notes: **No plot, there really isn't. And apparently, I have a penchant for glowing Canada. I don't even know.

xXxXx

The air in the club is unmoving, thick and damp and so hot Cuba feels as if he hasn't left home at all. On the floor is a writhing, moving pit of people so intertwined and close they've almost formed one organism. With the black lights in the building and the neon glowing paint, Cuba admits they've created a very pretty organism.

From the balcony Cuba is able to pick out some of the more obvious nations below. Prussia is at the bar, a vivid splash of red travelling down his spine, with France, little splotches of blue and yellow decorating him to the Germans right. Russia is looming on the fringes of the dance floor, no doubt vodka in hand, almost no paint on him except for some spots of red which create a rather appropriately violent aura around him. Cuba is so intent on studying those he can identify he fails to sense the presence behind him.

"You aren't dancing?" Comes a voice from next to his ear. Immediately Cuba spins around, a snarl on his face. It dies quickly. There is no mistaking Canada and America on a night like this. The club had been picked almost unanimously, a way to relax after a week of meetings and proper mannerisms. America, of course, took to things of this nature like a duck to water, and last Cuba bothered to check he'd been swapping spit with England, smears of gold on his face, rapidly mixing with the green England had been coerced into.

Canada, is not so obnoxious, but he had come at any rate, and he had come prepared. The northern nation's face is not as detailed as the rest of his families, England's included, but it is nonetheless lovely. Vibrant purple swirls and stripes play across pale cheeks, but Cuba only gives those a brief once over. It is the lips which get him, catch him off guard. They are bright purple, not surprisingly, but the emphasis put on them reveals what Cuba has always known are very pouty lips. Without thinking he brings a hand up, the tips of his fingers drifting across the bottom of Canada's lip. Nothing comes off, as it is dried now, but it makes Canada smile, white teeth glowing in the black lighting.

"I know," he says, eyes dancing, mouth close enough to Cuba's ear that he can feel hot breath. "France and America don't take no for an answer, and Arthur told me if he had to so did I," he doesn't move away, instead shifting so his side is pressed to Cuba's, "he likes it though." Cuba says nothing, because he's actually a little shocked. Canada isn't particularly touchy feely, a result, the nation theorizes, of having kilometres of empty space and only sharing a boarder with one person, so having him this close is unnerving, though not unwelcome.

The northern nation waits for a moment before pulling away some, brows crinkled, "am I bothering you Cuba?" he asks, and Cuba's eyes go wide.

"No no," he assures him, swallowing as Canada gives him another one of those smiles, violet lips curling, and presses back against him. "I just," he pauses, because he doesn't think Canada would appreciate being told he looks extra fuckable tonight, "it's hot." he says lamely, and Canada's grin grows wider.

"Is that why you aren't dancing?" he asks, head cocked. Cuba, again, shakes his head.

"Isn't anyone I wanna dance with," he says, because it's mostly true. Canada twists, so instead of side to side his torso presses lightly against Cuba.

"Do you want to dance with me?" He offers, the damnable grin still stuck to his face.

No, Cuba thinks, that is not what I want to do to you at all you little minx, but he doesn't say that, he just nods. Canada gives a delighted bout of laughter before grabbing his arm, dragging him downstairs to the dance floor.

Downstairs is even louder than the upper balcony, and Cuba wonders idly whether or not Germany is even aware he has clubs like these. His thoughts don't stray for long as they get a little further into the mass of people. The song playing is loud and foreign, not even a little familiar, but it has a good beat and clubbing doesn't require a lot of technique.

Before long there is some semblance of rhythm, and Cuba is faced with the fact this is a very, very bad idea. Canada is attractive at really any given point in time, Cuba is aware of this, but he has never been faced with anything even approaching sexuality from the younger nation up until this point. Quite frankly, it is a little overwhelming, and Cuba has gone long enough without sex that the fact he has a hot blond pressed against him is not working in his favour. It is because of this that the second the song is finished Cuba bolts.

Or tries to, anyway as Canada follows him into the much cooler room which works as a small almost porch for the back door. Cuba spins around when his arm is latched onto, and Canada drops it like it's burning hot. "Cuba," he says softly, eyes searching, "if you didn't want to dance you should have just said so." He looks a little upset, but Cuba just stares at him, dark eyes a little wider than usual. Canada fidgets a little under the gaze before pulling away some, looking down. "If I annoy you you should say something about that too," he mutters, turning to leave.

Something inside Cuba snaps at that, and before he can stop himself he's grabbed Canada, spinning him around and pressing their mouths together. Canada squeaks at that, but doesn't pull away. In fact, he melts almost immediately into the kiss, pale hands coming up to tangle in Cuba's dreadlocks.

It is not a slow kiss, it is hard and sloppy and before he knows it Cuba is pressing his northern counterpart against the brick wall. Canada arches a little at that, whining slightly at the roughness scraping against a partially revealed back. Cuba moans into the kiss as their hips meet. Canada, seemingly happy with the reaction, cocks his hips again and in retaliation Cuba pulled out of the kiss, catching Canada's lower lips as he does so.

Biting down just hard enough he tugs slightly before releasing it, focusing his attention on Canada's jaw. The blond moans again, lolling his head to the side to let Cuba kiss and bite and lick, while Canada's deft fingers crawl up under his shirt, raking down his back lightly. Cuba growls into the pale neck at this and bites a little harder than necessary at the shoulder juncture.

Canada yelps, his hips rocking forward and without another warning he grasps Cuba's hips, flipping them. Cuba doesn't have time to adjust before Canada opens his shirt, managing not to tear any buttons, and latches onto a nipple.

"¡Mierda!" he swears, both hands coming up to wrap themselves in wavy blond locks. Canada just grins again, this time Cuba's hardened nipple held delicately between white teeth. Cuba swears again as he pulls lightly, Canada letting the nub go and sucking on it. The other nipple is being rolled between Canada's thumb and finger, and once he's satisfied with the first, Canada moves his mouth to the other one.

"Dios mios," Cuba mutters, and without thinking pushes at Canada's head. At once Canada lets go of his nipple and slides down his stomach, licking as he goes. When he reaches the island nation's waist band he pauses, looking up coyly at Cuba. The dark nation wastes no time, simply tugging his pants and boxers down in one go.

Canada smiles at this, his face still alight in the flashes of black light the room they're in allows, and nips at his upper thigh before leaning forward and lapping once at the head of Cuba's not insubstantial erection. Breathing in sharply Cuba resists an explosive curse. Canada giggles just once before he wraps his lips around Cuba's cock.

Cuba's head jerks back, colliding with the wall, but the island nation really doesn't care. Canada bobs up and down a few times before Cuba trusts himself to look down. There is Canada, his sweet plump lips wrapped around his cock, violet eyes shinning out from a pale face. This is almost enough to make Cuba lose control, but what really does it is the paint. The glowing purple of those lips make them perfectly visible in the low lighting and without thinking Cuba punches his hips forward.

Canada draws back a little, but doesn't pull off or restrain Cuba's hips, instead bringing his hands to the wall on either side of them. With that he flicks his tongue against the underside of Cuba's erection, encouraging to just _take_.

And does he.

Cuba pushes into that hot wet mouth, relishing the sheer carnal pleasure of being rough. Canada's throat muscles flutter around him, a little panicked, but Canada does not seem to mind in the least. The heat in Cuba's groin pools as the northern nation moans, trying to keep up with Cuba's pace.

Cuba, on his part, is too lost in a haze of hot, hot wetness and purple and fuckthisissogood to even think of pausing his pace. Instead he simply enjoys the sensation of sliding in and out and in again. "Mi tesoro," he moans, the fluttering throat muscles quickly driving him ever closer to what he wants, "muy bien, muy bien." Canada moans around his cock at the praise and Cuba swears, hips punching once more, twice more before he comes, hot and hard.

Canada makes a small noise as Cuba releases, swallowing, milking the darker nation's orgasm. Once Cuba finishes Canada pulls off, leaving a smear of purple in his wake. "You should take me to your hotel room," Canada advises in a purring voice and Cuba curses some more, quickly doing up his pants and hauling the lithe blond up from his kneeling position.

"You're in for a night querido," he says huskily and Canada gives a little purring laugh, much like France's.

"That's what I'm banking on."


End file.
